University of Virginia Library

SCENA 1.

Sylvia, Delia.
Q.
Tell me what you thinke on earth
The greatest blisse?

A.
Riches, honor, and high birth.

Q.
Ah, what is this?
If love be banished the heart,
The joy of Nature, not of Art?

[Q.]
What's honor worth, or high descent?
Or ample wealth,
If cares do breed us discontent,
Or want of health?

A.
It is the order of the Fates,
That these should waite on highest states.

Cho.

Del.
Madam, you're overheard.

Sy.
I care not Delia.
Although my libertie, and free discourse
Be here denide me, yet the Aire is common:
To it then will I utter my complaints,
Or to thee, friend, to whom my love will dare
To shew the secrets of my heart, for others
I do not care, nor feare; so thou be faithfull.

Del.
Madam, I have no life, but what I wish
May be imploy'd to do your beauties serice;
My tongue is rul'd by yours: what you would have
It speake, it shall; else further then my thoughts
Nothing shall venter, that you leaue to me:
And those my thoughts, Ile keepe to such restraint,
As they shall never come within my dreames,
Lest they betray your counsells: this I vow
Religiously by—

Syl.
Hold, I will not
Have thee to sweare, nor would I thou shouldst thinke,
That I so much suspect thee, as to urge
An Oath; I know thou hast too much of goodnesse
(That's bred within thee) to betray a trust:
And therefore without further circumstance,
I'le let thee know my fortunes, part of which
I'me sure th'hast heard already.

Del.
Madam, I have,
And wisht that they had sorted to your wishes.

Syl.
I thanke thee Delia, but my evill Genius,
That has pursu'd my innocence with hate,
Brought me from thence where I had set my heart,
Unto this cursed Court, which, though it be
My place of birth and breeding, I doe finde
Nothing but torment, and affliction in it.

Del.
I guesse the cause sweet Madam, but that's past
And now forgotten: if you cleere your looks,
Your Father will inlarge you, and ne're thinke
On what you did, but that you are his daughter.

Syl.
Alas my Delia, thou dost mistake,
My liberty is of no worth to me,
Since that my love, I feare, will ne're be free:
Nor doe I care what idle Ladies talke
Of my departure, or my strange disguise,
To colour my intents; I am above
Their envie or their malice:
But for th'unluckie chance that sent to me
The over-curious eyes of him I hate,
Thou know'st the man.

De.
Yes, you meane Cleander,
Sonne to Eubulus, who is now your keeper:
What Starre directed him to finde you out?

Syl.
His love forsooth, for so he colour'd his
Unseason'd boldnesse, told me, he was not able
To want my sight: and so, when every one
Had given o're their strict enquirie of me,
He onely with too much officiousnesse,
Observ'd me in the Woods, walking alone:
And when I would have shunn'd him (which perhaps
Had I not done, he had not so well knowne me)
He came, and utter'd, as his manner was,
His tedious complaints; untill at length
He brought me with him, making no resistance:
And to ingratiate himselfe the more,
He said he would convey me where my Father
Should have no knowledge of me: I refused it;
Willing however to be ridde of him.
And now you know, it is a full Moneth since
I did returne to Court, but left my heart
Behinde me in those fields, wherein I joy'd.

Del.
Madam, has not the Court more pleasure in it,
Then the dull Countrie, which can represent
Nothing, but what does taste of solitude?
'Twas something else that carried you away.

Syl.
Tis true my Delia; for though thou wert
Privie to my departure, yet the cause
Thou couldst not tell, which I will now unfold,
And thinke I trust my honor in thy hands,
And maiden modestie: 'twas love that did it.

Del.
Love Madam? sure it is impossible
You should finde any thing there worth your love.

Syl.
Thou know'st the shepheards, that do dwell about
This place (which for their entertainements onely
The King my father built) did use to come,
As now they do, being sent for unto Court:
I ever lik't their sports, their harmelesse mirth,
And their contentions, which were voide of malice,
And wisht I had bin borne just such a one.

Del.
Your state is better Madam as you are.

Syl.
But I confesse the rather, cause there was
One amongst them, of a more comely grace
(Though none of them did seeme uncomely to me)
Call'd Thyrsis; and with him me thought I could
Draw out my life, rather then any other,
Such things my fancie then suggested to me:
So well he sung, so passionate his love
Shew'd in his verse, thereto so well exprest,
As any one would judge it naturall:
Yet never felt he flame, till this of me:
Often he came, and oftner was desir'd
Of me, nor did I shame in publique there
Before my father, to commend his graces;
Which when I did, the whole Court, as they use,
Consented with me, and did strive to make them
Greater then I, or any else could thinke them:
At last I was surpriz'd, I could not helpe it;
My Fate with love consenting, so would have it
Then did I leave the Court, I've told thee all.

Del.
Tis strange, but Madam, though in that disguise,
How could you hope, a stranger, to be lov'd
Of him you held so deare?

Syl.
I fain'd my selfe
Of Smyrna, and from thence some Goats I had,
And Sheepe, with them a rich commoditie.
Neare him I bought me land to feed them; he
Seem'd glad of it, and thinking me a stranger,
Us'd me with such civilitie and friendship,
As one would little looke for of a shepheard;
And did defend me from the avarice
Of the old shepheards, which did thinke to make
A prey of what I had. At length I saw,
He did addresse himselfe with feare to me,
Still gazing on me: knowing my love to him,
I easily beleev'd he lov'd me too:
For love, alas, is ever credulous.
And though I was resolv'd, having my end,
(Which was no more, then to discourse with him)
Never to let him know what flame I felt:
Yet when I saw his teares, and heard his vowes,
(Perswasive speakers for affection)
I could not choose but open to his view
My loving heart; yet with this caution,
That he should ever beare respect unto
My honor, and my virgin chastitie:
Which then he vow'd, and his ambition
Never was more then to attaine a kisse,
Which yet he hardly got: thou seest, sweete Delia,
How willingly I dwell upon this Theame.
But canst thou helpe me now, that I have open'd
My wound unto thee.

Del.
Alas, I would I could
Invent the way to cure you; I should soone
Apply my helpe: yet stay, this day it is
The shepheards come to Court.

Syl.
'Tis true, they come;
But what is that to me, if Thyrsis come not?
Or if he come, how shall he know me his,
Or I injoy his companie?

Del.
Let me alone
To worke out that.

Syl.
Thou dreamst, thou canst not do it.

Del.
Ile undertake it, but how shall I know him
Without inquiring, which must breede suspition.

Syl.
True, and beware thou aske; the Majestie
Which sits upon his brow, will say 'tis he,
Thyrsis my love; but yet perhaps at this time,
If I my selfe not flatter, thou shalt know him,
By his eies cast downe, and folding of his armes,
And often sighs, that interrupt his words.
For if his sorrow weares the liveries,
Which mine does for his absence, by these signes
Thou shalt descrie him.

Del.
These are silent markes:
Yet will I not despaire to finde him out.

Syl.
But when thou hast, what wilt thou say to him?

Del.
Give me but leave to use my mother wit,
You would be gone together, would you not?

Syl.
Thou speak'st my thoughts: do this, and I will crowne
Thy faith, thou shalt be Queene in steed of me.

Del.
If you could crowne me with your vertues Madam,
I should be a Queene indeed; in the meane time,
As I am Delia, Ile do this busines.

Sil.
Do it, and when th'hast don, the God of love
Reward thee with thine owne desires for this.

Del.
Madam withdraw, I heare your keepers comming.